We have telephones that can take photos and transmit them anywhere in the world in nanoseconds. We have the technology to transport a person to the moon and back and medical techniques that can increase our life spans and our libidos. But just try to wend your way through a supermarket check-out counter using their latest modern advancement, the Automatic Electronic Cashier (AEC’s) and, excuse the 50’s vernacular, “yikes!” It’s as fast as a third trimester snail rushing to the delivery room.

These electronic cashiers were installed several months ago at my local Winn-Dixie, but today is the first time that I decide that I will jump into the pool and get my AEC feet wet. It has taken me months to try the new system because I liked the old method just fine. A real person to talk to is a good thing, I think.

“Hello. How are you today? You’re looking chipper.” All are little civilities that add to the texture of the day.

Curiosity and temptation finally got the best of me and after watching several people navigate their way through the area set up solely for AEC transactions, I felt ready for the adventure.

I would guess that the installation of the AEC’s is a cost savings method. Eliminating a person from standing in front of a cash register should equate to a lower payroll, right? But I also notice that there are a number of former cashiers who are now in a managerial position. Their underlings being the AEC”s. This reminds me of the attendants standing by each of the Automatic Toll Machines on many of our highways. It does not appear to be very cost effective.

I start sweating when the gray-haired man in front of me at the AEC check-out begins to run into some trouble. He has scanned a bottle of wine, and his machine makes a general announcement to the entire store that he is attempting to purchase an “age restricted item”.

“Whaddaya mean, age restricted,” he demands, but the machine merely repeats the message and then announces that an associate will soon appear to verify his date of birth. The man looks around puzzled.

The AEC holds its ground and repeats the message again. I think that I hear the machine chuckle, but it is one of the associates, who arrives and allows the AEC to continue.

The machine gets bolder. The same man places several apples on the scanning pad, which has a scale built into its sensors. The screen above it lights up with photos of two dozen different fruits and vegetables and asks the man to pick the proper item, which he does. But it is not a choice of the machine’s liking and it suggests that he, “Please choose again.” The man, feverishly punching screen buttons, finally pokes one that the AEC agrees with.

Now come the bananas. The man behind me, in the now backlogged check-out line, suggests that if the bananas don’t make it through the system, he is afraid that someone from Homeland Security might come out and shoot the guy.

“Order a strip search, or at least have him remove his shoes” I add. We discuss whether we will be ‘profiled’ by our purchases.
“Probably, will be,” we agree.

The man on the check-out hot seat is not having fun. The machine balks when he fails to put his purchased items into the plastic sack in the proper order, by advising him that “the weight of the item purchased does not correspond to the last item” being placed in his bag.
Then, the man does it. He hollers at the AEC.

Oh, c’mon,” he screeches, “what are you talking about”?
The area instantly becomes quiet. You can hear a lemon drop. But the running footfalls of several associates rushing to the man’s, or the AEC’s, assistance bring his trouble to an end. They are able to successfully complete his transaction, and rapidly usher him out the front door.
It’s my turn. The pressure is on. I inhale, a deep breath, and take the plunge. I have six items and nothing that needs weighing. This is going to be a walk in the park.

The machine greets me: “Welcome, please begin scanning.”
So far so good.
Then comes the warning about putting my purchases into the correct bag. Uh, Oh, I think, I forgot that part. But with a deft hands I shift an item from the scanner into a bag, and I am good to go, again.
When I have scanned all six items and poke the “CASH” button as my preferred method of payment, the AEC announces, “Now processing.” I allow myself a premature smile before the machine continues, “We are unable to complete your transaction. Please select another payment method.”
My smile disappears. And I can find no associate to help me.
Silence. The AEC is waiting for me to do something.
Now I am sure. This machine is electronically giving me the fickle finger. I do the only thing a reasonable person can do. I look directly into its 14-inch diagonal viewing screen and say, “Hello. How are you today? You’re looking chipper,” and then I push the “CASH” button again.
In seconds it’s over. My money is accepted, receipt tendered and I’m on my way.
Next time I shop, I’m going back to my dinosaur ways; I’m going share my civility with a person, not a machine.

I only hope that my computer isn’t reading this.